


bring me back, help me stay

by stilessexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/stilessexual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 3x03 "Fireflies" this is the story of how Stiles grieved and Scott didn't let his best friend die a virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bring me back, help me stay

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd, so apologizes for any jarring mistakes!

Stiles slowly washed the night’s filth off of him. Slowly, slowly, slowly because he couldn’t wash out the image of Heather’s corpse from the inside of his eyelids and he couldn’t get the sterile stench of the morgue out of his nose because—

_Heather_ —

Oh Jesus Christ, Heather.

Sweet, beautiful bright Heather with her sunshine hair and her come-hither smile had been lying out on a slab of metal with the words “Jane Doe” making her just another victim when she was anything but a victim. She’d once been a force of nature.   

He didn’t think he’d ever scrub the filth of it all off of his skin.

Oh the filth of it all. He didn’t think he’d ever learn how to breathe again.

~

“Scott,” Stiles slapped the flat of his palm against the doorway and gasped in shock, “what the _fuck_ , man, get a bell or something.”

“Sorry,” Scott grinned crooked from his perch on Stiles’ bed, “but maybe you should lock your window or something.”

“Ha ha, asshole” Stiles turned towards his dresser and pulled out a pair of worn boxers. He slipped them on underneath the towel before dropping it and turning to face Scott. “If something was gonna come and eat me, I really doubt locking my window would stop it.”

“It’d give you more time,” Scott argued seriously, Stiles wanted to poke his clenched brow till it relaxed till Scott wasn’t so worried all the time “to get out of here or to I don’t know—

“Call you?”

“Yeah,” Scott sighed, “call me. Or Derek. Or whatever.”

Stiles snorted unattractively and narrowed his eyes at the fidgeting Scott; he looked like hell.

“What’s up, man? There are literally only about two things important enough for you to be here at dawn for and one of them doesn’t even really count.”

“I have no idea what you just said but I’m here because I’m not letting my best friend die a virgin,” he determinedly rushed through his words and _what_ —

“Ugh,”

“Or die at all for that matter so until we figure out what’s going on,” Scott went on, ignoring Stiles’ sputtering “until we can put a stop to it, you’re stuck with me. Like, all the time. Forever, maybe.”

“There are so many comebacks,” Stiles pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, only vaguely disappointed that Scott hadn’t rushed to his house at dawn to have his dirty way with him. “And only three of them include the words guard and dog.”

“Get to bed, dick.”

“So many comebacks, babe”

Stiles turned the lights off and settled in next to Scott. It wasn’t weird; there was absolutely no reason for it to be weird. It wasn’t even anything they hadn’t done before but, but it felt different. The blackout curtains kept the rising sun out. Everything felt hushed, like the inside of a church. The darkness felt sacred.

“Can you smell her, Scott?” Stiles finally whispered, “Can you smell Heather?”

Scott slipped his arms around Stiles and tugged him to his chest. He was too warm, too much, too Scott.  

“No,” he replied, gently rubbing the goose bumps that’d risen on Stiles’ bare arms. “She’s not here, Stiles.”

~

Her throat had been slashed and for the first four nights Stiles’ own was hoarse with his screaming. He constantly felt at the very edge of a panic attack, at the very edge of a cliff. He constantly felt like he was falling apart and dirty because Heather’s favorite color had been green and she loved tapioca ice cream.

Scott ran a soothing hand up and down Stiles’ back –ignoring the cold sweat, the shuddering sobs that racked through Stiles’ body. “Breathe, Stiles.” he whispered, fourth time in four nights, “It’s okay, just breathe. It’s okay.”

~

Scott never left Stiles’ side. Not at home. Not at school. Not for Isaac and not even for Allison.

It was disconcerting. It was devastating.

~

“She used to,” Stiles cleared his throat roughly, “Heather used to call all the time, because, she wanted to hang out. To see me. Because she missed me.”

Scott nodded, listening intently.

“And I ignored her,” he laughed bitterly, “I blew her off so many times, Scott, because I was too tired or I didn’t have time to go out and—

“Don’t blame yourself,” Scott whispered, and Stiles was shocked into silence at the crack in his voice. “Stiles, please don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have done anything.”

~

The upside of having Scott around all the time was, well, having Scott around all the time. The epitome of sunshine, he was nearly always grinning or offering to help –“John, seriously, I cook tonight so like, make Stiles leave the kitchen.”—as if he hadn’t basically lived there already. As if he hadn’t already made a home for himself in the nooks and crannies of Stiles’ chest. As if his name wasn’t probably carved into Stiles’ very bones.

The downside of having Scott around all the time was, again, having Scott around all the time. It was destroying Stiles, waking up every morning and being greeted with Scott’s face–hoarse, puffy and smiling softly. It was how Scott never got dressed in the bathroom, or how he always managed to find a patch of sunlight and curl up in it. It was more likely how Stiles wasn’t hiding his not-very-kosher feelings for his best friend as well as he once used to.    

Devastating, Stiles thought as Scott stretched and he let his eyes roam the faint trail of hair along his abdomen, so very devastating. 

~

“It’s like you’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

Stiles tore his eyes away from Scott’s ass.

“Pardon?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her bubble tea. She jutted her chin towards Scott –who was too busy arguing semantics of what-fucking-ever with Derek and Isaac to notice.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to insinuate,” Stiles drew out the words, stalling for time, “but I do know that I’m offended. Probably. I would probably be offended if I knew what you were talk about.”

“Really?” she raised a perfectly plucked brow. “Well, in that case you wouldn’t want to know that he feels, no sorry, he probably feels the same way.”

“Stop,” he snapped, chest aching. “Lydia, please.”

“How can you not know that?” she asked, incredulous “Everyone else sees it.”

“You can’t,” Stiles giggled, a bit hysterically; “you can’t possibly know that. Especially since his ex is your best friend. Also, just so we’re clear, I’m not admitting to anything.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Because there is nothing to admit.” He went on, heart thundering –hurting.  

“Nothing to admit about what?” Scott asked, making Stiles jump.

“Scott! Scotty, my man, you craving pizza? I’m craving pizza.” He looked past Scott to Derek, “what about you, big guy? Pizza? Isaac?”

“Um,” Scott laughed, “yeah, dude. I think we can all do with some pizza.”

“Great!” Stiles clapped his hands together once and jumped up, “I’ll go get it!”

“Why don’t we just order in?” Cora asked, a light tone of _duh you dipshit_ coloring her sentence and reminding everyone that she was, without a doubt, Derek’s little sister.

“I’d rather get it myself,” Stiles let out through gritted teeth,

“Cool,” Scott grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, “Let’s go. I needed a break anyways.”

_Fuck_

Lydia blew him a kiss on their way out.

~

“So, witches huh?”

_Not now Scott,_ Stiles wanted to hiss as he focused on the road ahead, _I can’t do this right now. I can’t look at you and not tell you that I don’t want anyone to ever touch you but me. I can’t look at you and not tell you that my chest fucking hurts when you’re not around._

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, buddy.” He grinned; his knuckles were white against the steering wheel “Witches. That’s kinda cool in a totally deadly way, isn’t it?”

Scott watched him, silent, for too long.

“Yeah, it is pretty cool.”

~

_Don’t be a martyr. He likes you. You like him. I don’t see the complexity in it all._

Stiles frowned at the text.

**_He’s my best friend and this is none of your business, Lydia. Go ruin some poor douche’s life._ **

_Well, forgive me for attempting to patch up your nonexistent sex life. Xoxo._

Ow.

Scott chose that moment to walk in with a towel wrapped oh so barely around his waist and his chest gleaming with droplets of water. It was nothing Stiles’ hadn’t seen before –hell, he’d seen everything there was to see yet he still felt his entire body flush with heat.  

“Everything alright?” Scott asked, brows clenched.

“Yeah, man.” Stiles rasped in reply, “why wouldn’t it be? Put some clothes on already and help me get through some of the books Deaton gave me.”

~

The witches were powerful. They were angry and ancient and absolutely fascinating.

But, in the end—

Lydia was mightier. Lydia was angrier.

~

Stiles went home alone, because there was no reason for Scott to come with him anymore –Lydia had made sure of that. He went home bruised, and probably in shock because she fucking _glowed_ but he was safe now. Heather’s death was avenged in a way. Maybe now he’d stop dreaming about her. Maybe he’d finally get some sleep.

“Scott?” he gasped, “Jesus Christ, man, what’re you doing here?”

“I,” Scott started, and he almost looked offended. “I needed to get my stuff. I’ll be quick.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant. You can stay, dude. Of course you can stay. I just thought…”

“What?” Scott was staring at him, and it was unnerving. It was fraying. Stiles thought if someone looked at him close enough that they could literally see him unraveling at the seams.

“I thought you,” Stiles laughed nervously; “I thought you wouldn’t want to. I mean, you’ve literally been stuck with me for the past two weeks so I thought you’d be sick of being around me by now.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” Scott asked, frowning. “Unless you didn’t—

“No, of course not. You’re my best friend, man, come on.”

_Stay,_ Stiles wanted to scream. _Stay forever._

Scott stepped forward, stepped close enough that Stiles could see how tired he looked –how worn down.

“Why is your heart beating so hard?” he asked, worried. “Are you okay? Do you feel like you might have a panic attack?”

And that, god, that was what pushed him forward and off the edge. One second they were staring at each other and the next Stiles was kissing Scott with everything in him. Stiles had his hands wrapped around Scott’s jaw and was pressing his lips against Scott’s and—

And Scott wasn’t moving. Scott wasn’t doing anything.

“Fuck,” he hissed, breaking away “Fuck, Scott, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—

But Scott was staring, open-mouthed and surprised.

“I’ll just,” Stiles gasped, his heart was thundering hard enough that he couldn’t feel his fingers. “I’ll just go. To the bathroom. Until you leave. I’m so sorry.”

~

“Open the door, Stiles.”

Stiles groaned from his perch on top of the counter.

“Scott, just go home.”

“Open the door or I’ll break it, Stiles, I swear to god—

“Okay! Okay!”

Stiles opened the door, and found Scott furious behind it. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had seen that look on Scott’s face, but it was the first time it was ever directed towards _him_. Scott stalked forward until he’d back Stiles up against the counter.

“Why,” he started and stopped, his brown eyes were narrowed and betrayed. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Scott,” Stiles pressed his lips together, and ignored that way his chest felt caved in. “I said I was sorry. I am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—

“Sorry?” Scott _whined_ , “You’re sorry? What’re you sorry for?”

“For kiss—

Scott cut Stiles off by pressing his lips against Stiles’. He gasped and nearly jerked back in surprise. The kiss was nothing like the one Stiles had initiated. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t desperate. Scott pressed his lips gently against Stiles’ slowly, so very slowly working them open, slowly taking him apart. Scott pressed his hands ever so lightly to Stiles’ jaw, forcing his mouth to open just a bit wider.  

And—

And, _god,_ Stiles wanted to touch. Now that he had permission in the press of Scott’s lips against his jaw, he wanted to take Scott apart. He slipped his hands down from the shifting muscles of Scott’s back, underneath his jeans and boxers, down to the firm swell of his ass and _squeezed—_

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott huffed, rolling his hips roughly against the hardening line of Stiles’ dick. “Touch me, come _on._ ”

“Bossy,” Stiles whispered against the kiss, against the slip slide catch of their lips. Stiles squeezed harder, let his finger roam into the crack of Scott’s ass –let them just barely ghost over his hole. And he definitely needed more, _now_.  Stiles surprised Scott by quickly slipping his hands out of his pants and flipping them, so that Scott’s back was against the counter.

“What’re you— _Fuck_

“Yeah,” Stiles hummed, on his knees. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

“You should’ve,” Scott threaded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and pulled oh so gently. “You should’ve, oh fuck, told me.”

Stiles hummed against Scott’s abdomen, against the light trail of coarse hair. He pressed kisses against the trembling muscles, and bit Scott’s hips –rejoiced in the hitch of his best friend’s breath.

“Yeah,” he huffed, “I can see how good of an idea that would’ve been,”

“I’m serious,” Scott whined, fingers tightening just slightly in Stiles’ hair.

“You always are Scotty,” Stiles finally, _finally_ pressed his mouth against the bulge in Scott’s jeans, pressed filthy, wet open mouthed kisses to it. He unbuttoned Scott’s jean, and carefully slipped them down and over his erect dick.

“Hello, old friend.” Sties grinned, and took the shaft lightly in his hand. “Haven’t seen you in a while,”

“Are you talking to my dick – _fuck_

Stiles licked the tip experimentally, and tried to recall one of the many 50-tips-on-how-to-give-a-mindblowing-blowjob articles he’d read but all he could think was that he wanted to make Scott’s breath hitch again. He wanted to hear Scott moan, he wanted to see Scott unravel and fall apart.

“I want,” he looked up at Scott, hoarse and suddenly brimming with _something_. “I want to make you feel –I want this to be good for you. So, like, tell me when I’m doing something right –or wrong, okay?”

Scott stared down at him with fond eyes; he smiled so hard that the corners of his eyes crinkled.  

“Yeah,” he rasped in reply, “You do the same?”

Stiles hummed and brought his focus back to Scott’s cock –he licked it again, root to tip, and made a brave attempt to swallow it whole. Scott groaned long and hard—

And –Stiles took that and ran with it, pressed forward and bobbed his head slowly on Scott’s dick. He ran his tongue over the tip and worked his hand over where his mouth couldn’t reach.

“Stiles,” Scott gasped, “stop, stop. Get up here.”

Stiles pulled off with an obscene pop, and looked up at Scott questioning.

“Come ‘ere,” Scott grinned, and dragged Stiles up to his mouth by the neck. Scott pressed filthy, open mouth kisses deep into Stiles’ mouth –like he wanted to taste himself on Stiles’ tongue and the thought alone had Stiles fumbling for the zipper on his jeans. 

“Lemme,” Scott mumbled, lightly smacking Stiles’ hands away. “I got it.”

Scott easily unzipped Stiles’ jeans and carefully slipped him out. He went on to spit in his hand and take them both in his large, too hot palm.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed against Scotts’ mouth, “Scott, _fuck._ ”

“Yeah, I got you.”

He jacked them roughly –nearly too roughly, nearly too dry but only barely. Stiles found himself gasping wetly against Scott’s neck, and clutching desperately at his back. He rutted into Scott’s fist and pressed more teeth than lips into his neck.

“Scott,” he choked. The orgasm started in his toes, clenched every muscle in his body and slammed through him. Scott worked him through the aftershocks and after a few cut off moans followed him through.

~

Stiles passed the joint lazily to Scott, and slowly exhaled the smoke out of his lungs.

“Dude,” he slurred to the ceiling, “she glowed. There was glowing and screaming and it was awesome.”

“I know, dude” Scott chuckled, and took a long drag “Lydia’s so cool.”

“Lydia’s awesome,” Stiles agreed, letting his eyes fall shut. “You’re awesome. You’re my best friend and you’re awesome.”

“You’re awesome too,” Scott giggled, but sobered too quickly.

“Question.”

“Yes, Stiles?”

“Why didn’t you,” Stiles started, and cleared his irritated throat roughly. “Why didn’t we do that before? So we didn’t have to worry about the witches?”

“Do what?”

“The sex, Scott.” Stiles rolled his eyes at Scott’s grin, and bit down his own smile.

“Well,” Scott began, seriously “I didn’t know that that was something you wanted and I also didn’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you weren’t comfortable with because there were crazy witch serial killers on the loose.” 

“Oh,” and that made only a little bit of sense to Stiles’ drugged, post-orgasm brain yet—

“Does that mean that you wanted to?” Stiles asked, and dragged himself up to an elbow to look at Scott better.

“Yeah,” Scott smiled sweetly, he answered immediately. “I always want to. If that’s okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles huffed, taking the offered joint. “More than okay.”

“Good,” Scott curled around Stiles. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ bare chest and let his eyes flutter closed, “I love you, Stiles.”

It wasn’t weird. It shouldn’t be weird. It wasn’t the first time either had said it but never like this, never so intimately—

“I love you too, Scotty.” Stiles whispered in reply.

~

He still dreamed of Heather.

“Stiles, hurry the fuck up or I’ll leave without you! I can’t be late to English again!”

“Jesus fucking Christ, man! Okay, I’m coming!”

He still dreamed of witches. He still dreamed of dying.

“I’ve seen you do your hair,” Scott pouted. “It does not take that long.”

“I’m sorry, dear.” Stiles grinned, “Let’s get you to class,”

“Shut up,” Scott laughed and dragged Stiles forward for a lingering kiss.

He had Scott though, and funnily enough all the romcoms were wrong; he didn’t make the nightmares go away. He made them bearable, though.

Stiles slowly learned to live with his ghosts.

~

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote scott x stiles, holy shit!!! 
> 
> i purposely glossed over what lydia did to the witches because a) i am not that creative b) hell, i don't even know what she did c) this is about scott and stiles. anyways, you should come say hello to me on tumblr @ wolfqueenargent and also thank you very very much for reading. :))) 
> 
> xoxo


End file.
